Alcohol and Introspection

It's nights like these
that make me realize
I am a child.
An old friend turned stranger
whispers words you've told yourself
but hearing him say it
makes the point
enough to cry
on the way home.
He asks if she is with you.
The look in his eyes
similar to the mexican
licking his lips in the corner.
You lie.
For one, to protect her.
Two, because that lie
is the closest to the truth
you'll ever get.
Barely a year
and you almost asked her
to make the biggest mistake of her life
but you cared too much
and she saved herself from you.

She still has a way
of opening you up,
revealing buried flaws
and you see a light bulb go on
in that look of hers.
Now she knows.
His unsaid words haunt your heart...
what is she doing with him?
He wasn't the only one asking

a couple poems I submitted for the Analecta

Untitled

poetry is a lie.
Construction of words, phrases.
Images deconstructing ideas.
Stealing symbolism from Salvador Dali.
Syllables painting pictures.
Periods. Commas, pausing for effect
Sentences f
o
r
ming shapes,
teasing the mind for meaning.
Capitalization unimportance
with a French accent.
A guess at the intention.
Merely an accident…
Merely the truth.